


Sparks

by VickyVicarious



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drabble Sequence, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Love, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVicarious/pseuds/VickyVicarious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They flare bright, only to fade out quickly, and often don't do a thing. </p>
<p>Six Zuko drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Centered mostly around pre-canon stuff, Fire Nation days. Six drabbles about Zuko.

Zuko saw things very clearly once. His father was right and his mother was good and his sister was strong and his uncle was kind. People mattered, and he spoke up easily because the generals were clearly very wrong.

And then everything twisted and flipped and became murky, because his father was right and his father had had nearly burnt his eye out. Zuko didn't remember the first few weeks of banishment all that well; they were a mess of pain and turmoil and the pressing fear that he would be blind and deaf and useless and never, ever regain his honor. And his uncle, pressing poultices over his wounds, what Zuko could see of him hazy but pale, lips tense.

Nothing was ever simple after that.

* * *

His sister was always a firebending prodigy; she surpassed him at a very young age and he hadn't caught up since. She was quick-witted, too, possessed of a sharp tongue that knew just when to strike, and nothing was sacred to her. She had friends, something that had always seemed foreign to Zuko, and yet she was far more heartless than he. She smirked at him, cold and calculating, and her fire burned hotter than his ever could, calm blue death.

Zuko began learning the art of the dao blades. It was a secret, and he never knew quite why, especially when he unexpectedly proved to be as good – better – at it than he was at bending. Maybe it was so Azula wouldn't learn of his success and nullify it by beating him as easily as ever. Maybe it was so he'd have something hidden to himself.

Maybe it was because, just like the mask eventually, it was something that fit him alone, like a lizard slipping into its skin.

* * *

Zuko lived for years on a ship manned with the Navy's old and discipline-challenged. They all knew his uncle from past battles in which he had loyally served their country, risking himself equally with his men, and they respected and loved the Dragon of the West. Zuko, they treated with a mockingly familiar sort of pity, at least when his wounds were still healing. General Iroh would not hear a word against his nephew, and for his sake, they refrained from open jeering.

But they never really liked their so-called Captain – Crown Prince or no, it was a blatant insult to have a thirteen-year-old put in charge of a full crew of experienced Navy men, and then also being forced to remain constantly on the move and out of Fire Nation waters. Especially when most of those men already had been reprimanded severely for not showing the proper respect to their betters; this assignment felt like a kick when they were down, and were it not for the soothing – and at times fiercely intimidating – presence of General Iroh, Zuko may never have lasted through the time it took him to recover his initial injury.

That said, Zuko's journey consisted mostly of long trips to all places once associated with Airbenders, or houses of learning that might have information on the Avatar. Their Captain didn't much interfere with the daily running of the ship, and so they managed to run the ship in a more relaxed way than most. Indeed, as time passed, the attitude on board grew laid-back and pleasant for the crew despite the hopelessness of it; eventually it became less of a conscious effort and more an ingrained skill to follow all proper rules and regulations yet still seem like just a group of pals going sailing. At least, when Zuko was not on deck they could do that. However, their easier existence allowed the crew of Zuko's vessel to grow soft spots for their Prince.

Zuko was the only one on board who regularly had nightmares, who brooded and yelled and trained his bending and swordsmanship constantly. Zuko forced himself to be stern and for a while he found it easy, because smiles stretched his healing scabs and cracked them open, pus and blood leaking over his face. Zuko _hurt_ the entire time, and though he may never have realized this, his crew watched him grow up with that hurt. They watched him grow for three full years, saw his transformation from a child into what might soon become a man. They saw, too, just how much _effort_ he had to put into being so angry and how quickly he could slip back into caring when he forgot himself. They saw how he desperately wanted to belong, even if they would never let him and he would never ask.

He used to follow them on their duties around the ship, as silently and unobtrusively as possible, until eventually he transformed the practice into a valuable skill. They could no longer tell when he was watching them; and such a thing would've boiled up tension to mutiny perhaps, had they not all _seen_ first-hand how Zuko watched not to catch them out and punish them – but just to view people interacting with each other, to feel alive in some tiny sense.

Not a single member of Zuko's crew ever really liked him. But they _saw_ him, saw how determined he was and how foolish. How he'd train constantly, how he would scream and cry in the night then shout and train even more in the morning. They watched him grow taller and heard his voice crack; delivered the choicest meals to his quarters, which he accepted with a painful look in his eyes, a wistfulness directed towards the mess hall whenever he thought they might not notice. They bore witness to Zuko's insane quest that never came any closer to a resolution, and his refusal to admit even discouragement at every new failure.

They grew to _respect_ him, grew loyal deep in their hearts as a result of seeing their Prince grow up and try so hard to conquer the impossible. None of them liked him on a personal level, not really – that was impossible, given all of his angst and anger and the way he took both out on them daily. But they respected him, as they had never respected nobles before. They'd never seen the Royal Family as so _real_ , and still none of them truly believed in Fire Lord Ozai or Princess Azula. Zuko, however, they respected and would follow, to their deaths if need be because he would _care_ if they died.

Zuko never realized this. He thought they all hated him; and on a personal level, many of them _did_. So when he finally found the Avatar, he didn't spare a thought towards the reaction of his crew. He was shocked, elated, furious with himself for letting his quarry escape – too busy to care what they thought of him.

And so he missed the proud smiles exchanged round the ship as, for the first and probably only time, his crew showed how much they thought of their Captain on their calmly pleased faces.

Zuko was elated, determined; yet still _shocked_ to discover the Avatar. Everyone else on board had already kind of figured that if it could be done, this boy would be the one to do it.

* * *

For a very short time when they were young, Zuko and Azula had been close. Though he idolized his mother and would never have admitted it aloud, to himself it was impossible to deny the truth that Ursa did not love her daughter. He'd always consoled his guilt with a jealous sort of reasoning: well, their _father_ didn't love _Zuko_. If it was even, it was okay, right?

But when she was very tiny and had not yet learned to bend, when the only hint of her prodigy was in her sharp, calculating eyes and unnaturally advanced vocabulary, Ozai did not love her yet. Ozai's love was very closely tied to honor and skill, both things a three-year-old Azula did not possess, and Zuko couldn't stand seeing her alone.

He would sneak into her room when she was supposed to be taking her afternoon nap. She never would be, instead practicing her writing. She wasn't very good yet, and as Zuko had already learnt all his letters, he would help her a little. Even then, she accepted it begrudgingly, not liking his being ahead of her despite the age gap.

The first time she ever smiled at him was when he'd successfully taught her how to write the names of the entire Royal Family, and Zuko had mentioned how their names sounded similar, but backwards in a sense. He'd phrased it something like, "I've got 'Zu' at the beginning and you've got 'zu' in the middle; it's like our names are standing side by side."

He never understood exactly why Azula loved that so much, especially since his logic wasn't quite spot on; but she took to it immediately and started calling him 'Zuzu' with a knowing gleam in her eye. It was a delicious and sacred secret for a while, months even, and her smiles weren't even _tinged_ with mockery then.

But at some point Azula got sick of the way he still napped through half his visit, dozing on her bed and mumbling his part of the conversation with an arm over his eyes. It was childish, three-year-old Azula told her five-year-old brother, then canted her eyes to the side and said, with a smile screwed on all wrong, "Well, I guess that's only to be expected from you, _Zuzu_."

* * *

When Zuko first met Mai, she was dressed up like a porcelain doll, all silk and pale skin, and the first thought he had was of how beautiful she was. The second thought he had was that she looked absolutely miserable, and he smiled at her a little wider than was necessary. She didn't seem to care.

In the years that followed, Zuko grew to like Mai more and more. She was so much more than her parents could ever understand, and unfortunately also more than they wanted. Her friendship with Azula was both a blessing and a curse, in a variety of ways, but one of the undeniable upsides to it was the way it allowed Zuko to come into contact with her so frequently.

He didn't actually love her then. That didn't come until much later. When they were children, Zuko only valued Mai as a friend, saw her as a sweet girl, so dangerous and determined and saying so much while saying so little. She didn't need words, when her eyes said so much. She uttered bland, subtly sarcastic quips, fingers busy sharpening a knife or doing embroidery, and her eyes would follow Zuko steadily across the room. Lashes heavy, she'd observe him and her eyes would tell Zuko all he needed to know, and even a bit more.

Mai had loved him from the start. Perhaps not from that first slightly-too-wide smile, but sometime soon after, and Zuko always knew it so Azula's little games in that regard were pointless. Except that they embarrassed Mai, so perhaps not so pointless after all, in Azula's mind. Still, Zuko rarely ever spoke to Mai, just exchanged quiet glances and sometimes sent her a smile, which never seemed to phase her (but did).

He'd never pretend that she was near the forefront of his mind during the years that he was searching for the Avatar. In truth, Zuko rarely thought of her at all, but he hadn't forgotten her. And when he met Mai again, even though it wasn't at all in the best circumstances, her eyes caught his for a moment, and he felt a tug deep inside of him for all her gaze had grown heavy like stone in the missed years.

Mai never needed words to tell him how she felt. Zuko tried to do the same, but he wasn't nearly as sure of himself as she; and inevitably he bungled things somehow. But with Mai, he always felt that level of understanding, of connection and trust and _truth_ in a world where Azula's lies twisted everything around him.

Everything between them felt inevitable from the first moment Mai's eyes had traced Zuko's smile and her lips had studiously not twitched upward in return. It didn't feel certain, but it felt like something Zuko could believe in and count upon, although he never said so.

As with so many things regarding Mai, he never needed to.

* * *

Zuko was, in many ways, very socially unaware. He didn't know how to react to certain situations, he was awkward and overbearing in turns – altogether uncomfortable around people. But he was not unobservant, especially about the things that mattered.

Ozai had never loved his son. Not once, not even for the slightest moment. He'd probably never even been genuinely proud of Zuko, either. Even his love for Azula and Ursa was twisted, dependant on what they could do to meet his expectations. Ursa loved Zuko to the depths of her soul, but she did not love Azula. She saw Azula as too closely associated with Ozai, and feared the result. Uncle Iroh loved Zuko deeply, but not without that ever-present twinge of longing for his _true_ son, and he probably would never have noticed Zuko very much if Lu Ten had not died. He did not love Ozai or Azula.

Zuko loved them all.

Zuko loved his family so much, that from the very start of things he refused to admit the truth to himself. His self-delusion did not start with his exile: it began years before, with the simple lie that _they were a happy family_.

Zuko was the only one who loved all the others. Even when he truly turned traitor, plotting his father's death, he still harbored an unreasonable seed of love for the man who would destroy the world if not stopped. He never mentioned it, knowing how it would be taken, but he had nightmares of his father's death and woke with damp eyes.

Zuko loved his uncle, and did not mention it, long past when he should have. Partly this was because he was far too broken to think of such things, partly it was because he assumed his uncle already knew. And Iroh did – but still, Zuko took it for granted, and regretted it later.

He loved his mother: blindly, fiercely, and far too stupidly. Zuko relied on her entirely; she was the keystone to his idealized view of the world. She was his only point of unconditional safety in a world that teemed with hidden demons. She was his _mother_ , and he had thought she would always be there. He still thought so, in some corner of his heart, still expected her to be alive and safe and to one day return and envelop him in a hug that would make everything right again.

But most of all, Zuko loved Azula. He hated her, too, far more than he ever did Ozai. Zuko resented Azula for a million different things, feared her, despised her – and loved her more deeply than he could express. She probably didn't know it; for all her cleverness, that was one thing Azula wouldn't ever suspect. She knew how Zuko wanted to protect her even when she was far more capable of doing so that he was; she knew he was vulnerable to her even at the best of times; she knew he wanted them to be a happy family. But she didn't know that this was all because he loved her, obvious as it might seem. Zuko wanted to tell her, he really did – sometimes he thought that was all Azula needed, to know someone truly loved her. But he knew that she would never believe him, and in fact would probably twist it around into a weapon to wield against him.

Azula was so broken, in so many ways, and Zuko wanted to fix her. He felt responsible for her unstable state, because in a way, he had sacrificed her long ago in order to maintain his simple, false belief in a happy family. Zuko had clung to Ursa, had refused to admit what he was seeing right before his eyes, and in doing so he had abandoned Azula to the wolves.

Zuko saw things very clearly, once. So long as he looked straight ahead and ignored the flicker of ugly realities in the corner of his eyes.

Then his father had burnt him, and Zuko's vision forever blurred under the weight of everything he didn't want to admit he knew.

Nothing was ever simple after that – but it hadn't been before, either, and over time Zuko finally began to recognize that truth.


End file.
